Like Brothers
by starryeyedwr1ter
Summary: You kind of like to think what you have is better than brothers. 'Cause he never chose Darry or Ponyboy, but he damn well chose you.
1. Chapter 1

**A.N: S.E Hinton owns The Outsiders.**

**Like Brothers**

You're like brothers, everybody says. And you don't know why, but that sentence pisses you off.

You don't got any blood brothers but Soda does. He's got two.

When you're a kid, you're real jealous of that fact. Of the fact that Darry bloodies Ray Eagle's nose for pushing Soda off the swing set, and the fact that Ponyboy always saves his last lunch cookie for Soda to gobble down on the way home. But as time goes on, you start to realise that blood doesn't mean a damn thing on it's own. You know brothers like Curly and Tim who ain't got half of what you and Soda got, and your own parents- well, your relationship with them doesn't even come close.

You kind of like to think what you have is better than brothers. 'Cause he never chose Darry or Ponyboy, but he damn well chose you. You didn't even get a choice in that there decision.

You don't think very much of Sodapop Curtis when you first lay eyes on him. Golden blond hair and big brown eyes, he kinda looks like a girl. He clings to his Mom's hand for much too long for your liking, and later he smiles at all the geeky kids and asks them if they want to play soccer with the cooler guys.

Then half way through the year, everything changes.

Your Mom leaves. Bitch doesn't even say goodbye. One morning she's there, then she's gone. And your Dad starts drinking. Not like he used to, not like a couple of beers in front of the box. He disappears for hours and comes home so wasted he can hardly stand. And Glory, he hates the sight of you. Reckons you're her reincarnated.

Three weeks after your Mom disappears, your Dad hits you for the first time. Sure, you've been whacked before; a sharp slap on the behind for giving cheek or ruining your good school shoes, but not a closed fist in the face and an impact so hard you can scarcely breathe after.

Your old man drops you to school late the next day. He's hung over, late for work himself and bellowing like an asshole. You don't want to get out of the car but he threatens to haul you out and march you inside if you don't. So you slide out self consciously, trying your best to gulp back the tears and refusing to look at the windows of the car where you know the glaringly obvious black eye will be staring back at you.

Everybody stares when you walk into class. Some kid gasps. Miss Middleton asks you to come outside to talk and like the stubborn little shit you already are, you look her square in the eye and tell her a bigger kid did it down at the playground.

"My Dad already went round there," you tell her. "Straightened his Dad out, made the kid apologize."

She smiles an uncertain smile at you and tells you to take your seat inside. You don't know if she's buying it but she can't prove otherwise. Inside, everybody stares as you take your seat. They either look at you like they're scared or like they're disgusted. But not the pretty boy two desks in front. He smiles at you until you snort and look the other way.

Recess is the hardest part. Everybody's asking you what happened and every time you tell the story your lies get bigger and more elaborate. The guy you fought with grows or gets more friends. Until a kid who lives across the street from you says:

"You didn't get in no fight. Your old man did that. My Mom saw him come home last night and she said he was drunk as a skunk."

The kid has a bad haircut and a big mouth. You want to kick the living shit out of him but instead you shake your head and deny it loudly, like the louder you say it, the more it won't be true. In the end, you walk off and hide in the play tunnel. You threaten to pummel any kid that comes near.

"Get out of here."

Your tone leaves no room for argument but the smiley face kid with the stupid name ignores you and climbs in anyway. When you look back on it, the move is so Soda, fearlessly kind, in a sappy way only he can get away with.

"You want a cookie?"

They're oatmeal, home made, and they smell real good. You didn't get any breakfast and the jelly sandwich you made yourself is all you'll be getting for lunch. You snatch the cookie he's offering and let him stay for a minute, the two of you leaned back against the curve in the tunnel, your legs turned up on the other side.

"Ain't you got someone else to bug?" You ask him when the cookie's gone.

"Nope." He gives you an impish smile and starts singing some soap commerical theme tune. You shake your head and look the other way. Finally, he stops singing.

"Stevie-" He starts, but you cut him off immediately.

"It's Steve."

"Steve-"

"And don't you ask me. Don't you ask about my eye or I swear to God I'll clock you one."

He looks amused at the threat, not in the least bit scared.

"I was just gonna ask if you wanted to come over to my place later. Me and my brothers usually get a game going before supper."

You've seen his brothers. One's older than you, well built, looks like he can take care of himself. The other's an annoying little squirt.

You don't get why this kid's being nice to you. He doesn't owe you nothing. He's got friends of his own. It's not like anyone's forcing him to be here, not like when your Mom made you be nice to your cousin Randy, even though he spits when he talks, and can't catch a ball to save his life.

"A football game?" You ask.

"Yeah," he says. And then he offers you another cookie.

You sit there together until recess ends. He ain't good at sitting still. He whistles, fidgets, drums his hands on the roof of the tunnel, and Glory, does he talk. But by the time you go back into class you barely remember your eye at all.

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	2. Chapter 2

**A.N: Hinton owns all characters. Thanks for the reviews so far.**

**Chapter Two**

You're like brothers. It gets said so much it becomes annoying and the teachers at school liken you to Siamese twins. They know whenever one of you is in trouble, the other isn't far behind.

You always get the blame of course.

You don't got the same charm as Soda, nor his blinding smile or innocent eyes. The female teachers don't believe a word of anything that gets said about him and even the males, when given a choice, would much rather blame you.

You're an angry little shit, which doesn't help. You're angry at your mom for leaving, angry at your dad for drinking, and angry at the whole world for standing by and watching it happen.

But not Soda, never Soda.

He's the only kid in the neighbourhood not afraid of your dad, and he's a bundle of excited energy from the moment he wakes up to the moment he goes to sleep. At first the way he bounces around drives you insane, but after a while you like the distraction. It's hard for you to stay mad with him around.

He'll give you his last sandwich, his last penny, or the shirt off his back if you'd ask. And you do at first, abusing his generosity, waiting for him to tire of you. But he never does, and when you realise this, you start giving back. That guilty dollar your Pop gives you after he wishes you dead, goes on enough candy to make the two of you sick.

The girls really dig him too and usually, that works in your favour. Girls are always following you around and even though it gets annoying being Soda's back up guy, usually when a girl likes him, she has a friend who is into you.

"I like Maggie Conway," he tells you one day on the walk to school.

You've been walking on your own for a while now, but Mrs Curtis insists on taking Soda and Ponyboy. Most days, the four of you go together.

Mrs Curtis and Pony are in front, holding hands and singing something you can't make out. It makes you miss your mother and for a moment you forget to be angry at her.

"Stevie, are you listening?" He never gives up on the 'Stevie' thing but you pretty much give up correcting him. "I said, I like Maggie Conway."

"Who doesn't?" You snort.

Maggie Conway is the prettiest girl in the fifth grade. Her parents run the convenience store on 12th Avenue, and she has the nicest red hair you've ever seen.

"I brought her one of Mom's cupcakes," Soda says, tapping his bag. Your mouth waters at the thought of Mrs C's cupcakes. You never get nothing like that over at your place so now you're angry at Maggie. If it weren't for her, you and Soda could split it.

"I don't think she's all that into guys," you tell him. It's partly true, you've never seen Maggie with a boy, but you mainly say it because you've set your sights on that cupcake.

"Really?" Soda looks crushed and you tell him that you've never heard of her having a boyfriend. Mostly at your age, boyfriend and girlfriend consists of sitting together at lunch and occasionally holding hands. It's true that Maggie always sits with the girls.

"Could you talk to her for me? Kinda find out?"

You can't believe he's asking you this. Soda, who can charm the birds from the trees, is sending you in to talk to a girl. But when he looks at you with puppy dog eyes, you can't bring yourself to say no.

At lunch, Maggie Conway is sitting with her friends at their usual lunch table. You go over, ask her if she wants to take a walk, and her eyes are already sparkling like diamonds. You've seen that look before and you know she knows Soda has sent you over here.

"So listen, I was just kinda wondering if you have a boyfriend." The two of you are walking across the school field, the afternoon wind tearing at your clothes.

"No." Maggie giggles and flicks back her long red hair. "I kinda like someone though."

You sigh in relief. She's interested in Soda, she was just waiting for him to make his move. You're tryna work out how you can use this in your favour, like maybe you can get her to hand over Mrs Curtis' cupcake as payment for hooking them up.

"Soda's got this cupcake for you," you start, and Maggie stops walking and stares at you with hurt eyes.

"Soda?"

"Yeah. 'Cause he likes you back."

Maggie shakes her head furiously.

"I don't like Sodapop! I like somebody else."

You feel riled up now. You want a name, someone you can pummel into next week for stealing Soda's girl.

"Well, who is it then?" Your tone's aggressive and you wonder if you've gone too far when tears fill her eyes.

"You, Steve Randle! I've liked you since second grade!"

This throws you for six. You almost ask to hear it again before you realise this isn't cool. For once, Soda isn't getting the girl, she wants you. But instead of feeling glad, you feel sick.

"You don't like me," you tell her. "I've got...bad manners." It's all you can come up with. All the adults comment on Soda's beautiful manners, but never yours.

Maggie stares at you stubbornly.

"I don't care."

"But Soda likes you," you push. "All your friends will be jealous and he has the best lunches in the whole grade. He'll share them with you too."

It doesn't occur to you that Maggie's parents own a convenience store and Soda sharing his lunch will never mean the same thing to her as it does to you.

"Dont you think I'm pretty?" She persists, twirling a thick strand of red hair round her fingers. You do think she's pretty, damn pretty, and if you were doing the talking for anybody else you're almost sure you wouldn't be able to resist that pout of hers. But you're not here for anybody, you're here for Soda.

"Naw, I don't like red heads."

Maggie looks at you for a second, before bursting into tears and rushing away. You watch her go with a sinking feeling in your stomach. You thought it would feel good to be wanted over Soda but it don't feel good at all. You feel bad you upset Maggie, and bad that your buddy, for once, won't get the girl.

By the time you trudge back into the lunch hall, Soda is impatient.

"What happened?" He's bouncing around like a freaking yo-yo.

You can't look at him as you say it, but you slide back into your seat, noticing that Maggie's chair is still empty across the room.

"She ain't interested."

You have a pretty good idea that if you tell him the truth, he'll tell you to go find her. That's the kind of guy Sodapop Curtis is. But you don't want to see the hurt in his eyes.

It's quiet for a while and you concentrate on chewing your way through a cheese sandwich. The bread is a little stale and it's like chewing rubber.

"Thanks for trying," he says softly, and you feel like the world's biggest jerk.

He takes out the cupcake and offers it to you but you shake your head.

Suddenly, you've lost your appetite.

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	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

You're like brothers. Everyone thinks this but your old man.

"They ain't your family!" He yells at you every time you come home late. But he ain't that bothered 'cause he never comes looking. You wonder what it would be like to have your angry dad facing up with smiling Mr Curtis, and part of you wishes he'd at least try to bring you home, even if you would be embarrassed as hell.

He doesn't hit you so much no more, but he does regularly turn you out into the cold for no good reason. Sometimes you sneak round back and climb in your bedroom window. Some days, you want away from him as much as he does you. So you go over to Soda's house.

The Curtis house feels like home, even if it ain't your home. Mrs Curtis cooks like nobody else and your mouth starts watering at any hint of her food wafting out from the kitchen. She's soft and smart and she smells real good. Hurting yourself at the Curtis house is the best place to do it 'cause she's always there with a cookie and a band aid. When you're little, you even hope you do scrape your knee, just for a little of her attention.

Mr Curtis is a riot. He play fights with you, and tells you jokes that Mrs Curtis calls 'inappropriate'. He'll get down and dirty on the football field any day of the week and when you look at him, you can't help but smile. He's sort of like Soda in that way.

You like Darry too, Soda's big brother. It's hard not to. He plays all kinds of sports and he's always fair, giving you a chance to gain the upper hand even though you know he can cream you and Soda both.

The youngest Curtis is a real drag though. Maybe it's 'cause he's so little but you suspect it's 'cause he takes up so much of Soda's time. He don't got any of his own friends yet and he's always asking to join in on whatever it is you're doing. What bugs you most is how Soda is with him. He talks to the little twerp like he's the only person in the world and he'll play catch him with hours. When the kids upset, all the light goes out of Soda's eyes, like it's the most important thing to make the little leech happy again. Pansy.

You're not the only waif and stray over at the Curtis place. Soda seems to collect unwanted kids like lonely old ladies collect cats.

There's Dallas Winston, whose mom sent him from New York to live with his dad here in Tulsa. He's a cool cat, you have to admit, quick fists, bad temper, and at first you're jealous of him because he's a little like you, only wilder, angrier, and he's seen parts of the world you ain't. It soon becomes clear though that Dallas won't suffer Soda's kindness, or any other sensitivity. He won't listen to him dream about cars and girls like you will. Matter of fact, the only thing they've got in common is their love of horses and that's where Soda meets Dallas, down at the stables.

Next up is Johnny Cade. Scruffy and shy with eyes like a deer caught in the proverbial headlights. Soda invites him to join in a game of football down at the lot one day and ever since the kid's hanging around all the time. He kinda annoys you at first, looking up to Soda with his big wide eyes and never really saying much. But then you start to notice when he does talk, he's pretty funny. He's got that look in his eyes though, the one your dad would like to put in yours. Fat chance of that though. You'd rather die than give him the satisfaction.

Two-Bit Mathews is the last of Soda's inner circle. He's the class clown and when he and Soda get going, they're kind of a double act. You suppose you should be most jealous of him 'cause he matches Soda in energy and enthusiasm. But it's hard to hate somebody who makes you laugh so hard your stomach hurts. And all the candy he swipes you is kind of an obstacle too.

It bugs you sometimes that you care so much about Soda. You don't like being jealous of the other guys or feeling like even his baby brother is competition.

The first time you realise he cares about you just as much is your thirteenth birthday. You beg your dad for a car, any old car. Not to drive, you explain, just so you can take it apart and look at it. Doesn't have to be running, doesn't have to be fancy. You just wanna take it entirely apart so you can see how everything works. Then you wanna put it back together.

Your old man tells you you're crazy. What thirteen year old kid wants a busted up car for his birthday? But after enough pleading, he finally says he'll think about it.

On the morning of your birthday you come downstairs to find he's bought you a kite. There's no card, and he hasn't wrapped the one shitty present he's bought you. You hate him.

You leave the kite where it is and go over to the Curtis house.

It's a Saturday morning and everybody's up. Darry is getting ready for football practice but Soda and Ponyboy sing you happy birthday as loud as they can from the hall. You try to smile at Soda's obvious enthusiasm and then you smile for real when you see the huge cake Mrs Curtis has made for you. Mr Curtis gives you a set of mechanics tools that used to belong to his Dad, and you're so happy that you can barely say thank you.

"Wait, I got you something too," Soda exclaims.

You go out back with him, and there in the Curtis yard sits a beat up Chrysler Dodge. When you say beat up, you mean beat up. It's missing a door and the back windscreen. From the body work you're pretty sure it's been in a horrific accident and maybe that's why the bumpers missing. But it's a car all the same.

"Whose is that?" You ask dumbly.

"Yours." Soda shrugs and in that moment you love him more than you've ever loved anyone. Even your mom before she beat it out of there. "It ain't running or nothing," he apologizes.

"Where'd you get it?" Your voice is a whisper, barely audible, but he's standing close enough to hear you.

All the Curtis' are outside now and Mr Curtis puts a fatherly arm about your shoulders.

"I asked your dad if it'd be okay to give you the tools," he explains. "And when he said you weren't getting a car, Soda made me take him to the scrapyard."

Your eyes travel from Mr Curtis to the car and then back to Soda's smiling face.

"The car didn't cost nothing but we had to pay for the tow truck to bring it here. Used all my savings," he says proudly, and you can't help it, a lump forms in your throat.

And then you start crying. You ain't bawling, there's no noise coming from you. But droplets of water roll without welcome down your cheeks as you stare in shock at the beat up Dodge.

Darry and Soda tell the story for years, about how the first car you ever owned reduced you to tears. But the joke is on them really.

You ain't crying over the car.

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	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

You're like brothers. But you're different from him.

He digs cars but not like you do. He don't got the same patience with an engine. He's too easily distracted by a chick walking by or a football game getting started. Same with school. You secretly enjoy solving a math problem but he can't sit still long enough.

You don't dig horses like he does. But you dig 'em enough because he wants you to. Because when he's with a horse, he reminds you of how you feel under the hood of a car. He loses that restless fire of his as he strokes it's mane, and whispers in it's ear. It's like it's just him and the horse, and nobody else in the world.

You sit on the fence at the stables, smoking a cigarette, and watch him walk his pony, Mickey Mouse, round the ring. It ain't really his horse, it's a mean old bastard, nips at everyone and everything, including you, including it's owner. But you realise the horse must be smarter than you give him credit for, because Soda is his favourite person in the whole world. He pushes the horse into a trot then a canter, and finally he is making that god awful horse gallop before he makes him jump, something his owner said he'd never do under instruction.

Afterwards, Soda sits up on the fence to get his breath and that dark gold horse comes nosing over to him, nudging his chest, trying to get close. You think for sure that he'll knock Soda off the fence or at the very least take a bite out of him, but it never does bite Soda for real, only a playful nip here and there. Soda is laughing, tousling his mane. He calls over to you:

"You see that, Stevie? I got me an ornery pony." He pushes his face close to the horse's. "How come you're so mean Mickey Mouse?"

From where you're sitting, it kind of looks like the horse is smiling.

When the two of you are tryna hitch a ride home later, Soda is glowing with joy.

"I told you he's smart. He can learn anything I teach him. Maybe Mr Higgins will let me enter him in the rodeo."

You humour him, tell him maybe so. And you also admit that the horse is just stubborn, not dumb.

Don't matter either way. Two weeks later, Mickey Mouse is sold and shipped out.

Soda don't come out of his room for two days. You sit outside in the hall for two hours trying to convince him to open the door. You don't tell him that it's just a horse, like Darry does, nor do you come up with hair brain schemes to rescue it like Ponyboy does.

Instead you sit outside and talk about nothing. You talk about school, pranks and the girls you reckon have grown hot recently. You talk about Dally and Two-Bit and Johnny too. But mostly you talk about what you guys will do this summer. Jumping off the bridge into the Arkansas river, persuading Darry to drive you and some girls to the lake, going fishing with some beers you'll get Two-Bit to swipe for you. Finally getting the parts you need for the Dodge to get her up and running.

When he opens the door, his eyes are red from crying. He doesn't invite you in and so you don't get up. Instead he comes into the hall, slides down the wall next to you and looks at his stocking feet.

"What else we gonna do?" He sniffs.

You would build him a space rocket if only he'd quit looking like he does.

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He doesn't go to the stables for four months, but he's back to his old self. You do everything you swore you would. You jump off bridges, drink stolen beer, go fishing, and hitch a ride to the lake. You don't have any chicks to take with you, but you meet plenty there. Soda goes all the way with a high school sophomore. You're so pleased he's happy again, you don't even mind that her friend won't put out.

By September though, them horses are drawing him back in. He starts hanging around at the stables again with Dallas, and by the time the weather's turned cold, the two of them have decided to go out for Junior Rodeo.

They're a fireball combination. Soda is an adrenaline junkie and Dallas is just plain crazy. They try and outdo each other constantly, and even though you ain't into horses, it's a hell of a thing to watch.

When the spring comes in, both of them are entered into the bareback riding contest in the Junior Rodeo.

You sit in the stands with Two-Bit, Johnny, Darry and Mr and Mrs Curtis. Mrs Curtis keeps wringing her hands. You think she might faint when Dallas' pony bucks him relentlessly and he seems to be losing his grip. She squeezes Mr Curtis' arm so hard she leaves painful marks, but Dallas gets a hold of his mare with the one hand he's allowed to use, and doesn't hit the ground.

When his times up, he slides off his horse and walks it out of the arena. He doesn't acknowledge the excited crowd or even the cheers from you and his other buddies.

Soda is different though. Soda's a show man.

He picks you out in the crowd in the first two seconds. He waves crazily before the bell goes and the horse starts bucking. The crowd love him. Hell, he's grinning from ear to ear as he's thrown this way and that, keeping one hand raised above his head. You're on your feet whistling like a maniac and yelling his name when something goes horribly wrong. The horse crushes him against the side rails and he loses his grip. He gets flung in the air as the horse goes over sideways.

Mrs Curtis screams.

Before you know it, all of you are pushing your way through the crowd. And with Darry and Mr Curtis in the lead, it doesn't take long to get to ground level. Darry and Mr Curtis jump the rail, and you follow without a second thought. It takes Two-Bit, Johnny and Pony to convince Mrs Curtis that she can't hop the rail too.

Someone's been quicker than all of you though. Quicker than security and quicker than the first aiders. You look up to see Dallas helping the spooked horse to his feet, talking softly to it, leading it safely away from Soda.

And then you see him lying motionless on the ground and for one horrible moment you think he's dead.

In that moment, you pray to God for the first time in your fifteen years. You ask him to please let Soda live, and you promise you'll never ask for a Goddamn thing again as long as he's okay. Seems like just as you're done praying, Soda groans out loud and opens his eyes.

Mr Curtis is down at his side and it's clear for everybody to see his shoulder's been dislocated. You crawl down onto the dirt beside him and he suddenly realises you're there.

"Stevie, how'd I do?" Even through his obvious pain, he needs to know.

"Super tuff," you tell him. "Just next time don't forget to hold on."

He almost laughs at that one but then the first aiders are pulling you out of the way.

The dislocated shoulder is only the tip of the iceberg. Turns out he's damaged the ligaments too and the doctors advice is for him never to enter another rodeo. Soda is heartbroken, he's in denial for months but when he finally accepts he has rode his last rodeo, you can't help feeling relieved.

Them horses ain't never caused him nothing but trouble.

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	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

You're like brothers. And in your heart he'll always be family to you. You don't care about blood or genetics. When things are rough, it's his door you show up at.

One day when you're around fourteen, you get a letter in the mail. You never get mail, and this looks like a card with a red envelope and a Maryland postal mark on it.

You stand looking at it for a while in the empty hallway until your Pop passes by and then freezes behind you.

"What you got there?"

You don't know why he gives a shit or why you answer him.

"A letter, I guess."

Your old man looks tired, old even. The lines round his eyes have deepened and he has the sure red face of an alcoholic.

"That's your mother's handwriting."

You think a little part of you already knows this. You've seen her handwriting before; in the phone book, on the back of photographs, and maybe that's why you've stood here this long without opening it. It's the first kind of contact you've had from her in nearly ten years. Ten years is a long old time.

"You gonna read it?" He asks you.

You're a little surprised he hasn't snatched it out of your hands and set the sucker alight, but you don't look at him.

"Maybe later." You take down your jacket, put it on and slide the envelope inside. Then you open the front door.

Your feet know where you're going even if you don't. You've done this walk so often you reckon you could navigate it with your eyes shut.

Before you know it, you're at the Curtis place. It ain't much to look at, that's for sure. Ramshackle one storey building with peeling shutters and a dilapidated porch. Despite this, you can't help cheering slightly when you turn into the dusty drive.

You can hear the usual Curtis banter going on inside and you're about to walk in when you realise you don't want to be in the midst of a loving family. The envelope inside your jacket feels like it's burning a hole in your chest so you sit down on one of the porch chairs and take a deep steadying breath.

"Oh, Steve, you gave me a fright!" It's only a minute or two before Mrs Curtis comes outside. She startles you just as much and you try and hide your troubled face from her.

"Hey," you manage.

"I'm looking for Soda's sneaker. You don't see it out here, do you?"

Soda loses everything in his possession. From lighters, to school books and yeah, even shoes. You guess his brain is ticking at such a rate that it ain't got room to remember where he left stuff.

Mrs C is clambering around at the other end of the porch. when you realise the sneaker is under your chair. You reach down and pick it up, holding it out for her to take it from you.

"There it is! That boy, honestly."

For once, you can't take her warm smile or look into her kindly face.

"You coming inside?" She asks you, but since you can't answer, you take out your cigarettes instead and hold them up to her in explanation.

"Well, alright, but you come on inside anytime, okay?"

You nod, mutter a thank you and light up a smoke as she slips back inside, sneaker in hand. A minute later and Soda is coming out the same door. He hasn't taken the time to put on his recently discovered left sneaker. Instead he trudges out with it in one hand, a garbage bag in the other. The right sneaker is still on his foot.

"Hey, Stevie." He takes a detour down the side of the house to put the garbage in the bins, and pretty soon he's sitting on the porch steps pulling on his sneaker.

"Hey."

He sits down on the steps in front of you, doesn't say a lot at first, only shaking his head as you offer him a cigarette.

"Your old man at it again?" He ties his shoe as he talks, not turning back to look at you. Only Soda would get away with that comment, referring to your dad's drinking like that.

"Naw," you say. "It's my Mom."

He's startled by the mention of your Mom and you don't blame him. He's never known her and you don't talk about her neither. As far as you're concerned, she''s dead. But now this letter is here, evidence that she does exist out there somewhere.

"You heard from her?" He turns around to look back at you, his golden brown eyes sympathetic. From anybody else, it'd be pity 'cause Soda's is the only kind of sympathy you can accept.

"Yeah." You get up and sit down next to him on the top step. You pass the envelope to him from inside your coat and watch as he looks down at it in confusion.

"This from her? What's it say?"

It would never occur to him that you haven't opened it. He would have to sit on his hands to stop himself from tearing open a mysterious letter. He turns it over and looks at the untouched seal.

"You didn't open it yet?"

Even in your jumbled state, you find it amusing how predictable he is. To other people, Soda is crazy and spontaneous, but you always know how his erratic mind works.

"You open it," you tell him.

He shakes his head passionately, holding the letter back out to you.

"Stevie-" He begins, but you shove his hand away and grit your teeth.

"Just open it, will ya?"

You don't know if it's your insistence or his own curiosity but he pauses only for a second before he tears the letter open. It's a card with a Porsche on the cover. You wonder if it's luck or if she realised even as a little kid, that you were car crazy.

"You want me to read it to you?"

You nod, pull your knees up to your chin and take another pull on your weed. He starts to read.

"_Dear Steve,_

_I hope this letter finds you well. You must be so grown up now and the thought makes me sad and happy at the same time._

_I'm sorry that it has taken me this long to write to you but I was going through a very dark time in my life and I wanted to be in a better place before I did._

_I hope your Dad is taking care of you okay and you're doing good in school. I got a half decent job now and I'm hoping soon I can rent a two bedroom place so you can come and stay._

_Please give me a call or write me back (the address and number is on the back)._

_Love you, Mom."_

By the time Soda finishes, you are squeezing your smoke so hard it's dented, and he looks at you searchingly.

"You wanna call her? You can do it here so your Pops don't find out."

"No."

"Then what about writing? Sometimes stuff's easier to write down."

Again, you refuse.

Soda gives you a sad smile.

"You wouldn't want to no matter what the card said, huh?"

He's got it in one. There's no excuse on the planet that would make you forgive her for leaving you behind. Your dad may be an asshole but at least he's an asshole that stuck around. And as for her having gone through 'a dark time', she should try being a vulnerable kid in the household you were raised. Dark time, your ass...

You shrug, but he already has his answer. You guess he knows you as well as you do him.

"So why did you want me to read it to you?"

"Guess I wanted to be reminded I already got a family," you whisper.

He smiles at you then, that Soda-Curtis-two-thousand-watt super grin.

"Hell, you know that, Randle. I'm the brother you never had. You want this?"

He hands you the card and you snatch it and tear it into tiny pieces before scattering them to the wind. The two of you watch them blow this way and that, some getting stuck in the hedges, some being whipped out onto the street. Afterwards, you lean back on the stairs and look up at the stars.

"You wanna come inside?" He asks you, but you shake your head, no.

So the two of you sit, with your backs to the house, watching the night sky. You don't talk for nearly an hour, just sit in complete but comfortable silence until finally Mrs C calls Soda inside.

He shakes your hand before he disappears and all he says is;

"See you tomorrow."

But you know what his eyes are saying.

_'And the day after that, and the day after that.'_

_888_


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

You're like brothers. When you hurt, he hurts. When he gets embarrassed, you do too.

Like that time in Mr Trent's math class.

Trent is a hard ass. He's got no time for slackers or those that can't keep up. He lost Dallas on his very first class. Tossed him out and Dally kept on walking, down the hall, past the front doors, out the main gate.

Two-Bit is also banned from the same classroom, but every now and then he appears at the window and starts to mime for the class. He does a spot on impression of Trent, adjusting his glasses, pointing furiouslyas he fires imaginary questions. Drives Trent to distraction but draws massive laughs from the students. Even the ones who are afraid of Trent can't help but crack a smile.

But even worse than Dally and Two-Bit, Trent has got it in for Soda.

Some of the guys like to watch him get grilled, you can tell. They look at Soda and see this good looking charmer, who effortlessly earns the affection of everybody around him. And yeah, guys like that rub you up the wrong way too. But that ain't Soda. Well, it is, you guess, but he honestly don't realise how damn good looking he is. There ain't an arrogant bone in his body, and the 'charm' everybody talks about is just him being a nice guy. He does that without thinking.

You know Trent don't see it that way. You know he was one of the pimply awkward kids in his own high school, and Soda represents every popular guy who ever looked down on him. If he knew Soda enough though, he'd know he don't look down on nobody.

But he don't know Soda, and that's why he's constantly on his tail. It don't help that he ain't great at math. Well, it helps Trent plenty. He revels in it.

"Mr Curtis."

Soda's seat is at the back of the room. Trent assigns seats by last names, starting from the back. That means he's in the back row and you're second row from the front. Soda never used to do too badly when you were allowed to sit together but ever since you've been in Trent's class, he's failing miserably.

His eyes go from the blonde he's talking to, to Trent.

"Yes, Sir?"

You hate that he calls him 'Sir'. It's rare a teacher gets that sort of respect from you but Trent definitely don't deserve it. Too bad Soda's parents have taught him to respect his elders. No matter how much of an asshole said elder is.

"Problem number four. Read it aloud please." Trent is pacing the front of his room, hairy arms clenched behind his back, beady black eyes staring out behind thick rimmed glasses.

It takes a couple of seconds for Soda to shuffle through his paperwork and then find the problem on his work sheet.

"Come on, Mr Curtis. Some of us want to get to lunch today."

"A spike is hammered into a train rail. Donnie is standing at the other end of the rail." Soda begins hesitantly. "He hears the sound of the hammer strike both through the air and through the rail itself. These sounds arrive at his point six seconds apart. Sound travels through air at 1100 feet per second and through steel at 16,500 feet per second. How far away is that spike from Donnie? '

You are working on problem number seven. You know the answer to problem four and though you ain't keen on calling attention to yourself, sometimes you volunteer the answers just to take the heat off of Soda. You bite your lip as Trent continues to glare at him.

"So?" Trent demands.

"So, what, Sir?" Soda's tone is apprehensive. He knows Trent don't like him even though he dismisses the idea when you bring it up. You guess he ain't used to not being liked.

"So, what is the answer?"

Soda looks hard at the paper. Some days you wish he'd have a Eureka moment and blurt out the right answer. Wipe that smug look right off Trent's ugly face. But you know it ain't never gonna happen.

He drums his pencil on the edge of the wooden desk, faster and faster as he becomes more and more tense. You can tell the noise is driving Trent crazy and knowing that, it's driving you crazy too.

"I guess I don't know, Sir."

Trent groans theatrically.

"Kids in middle school can do this kind of math, Mr Curtis. So either you're lazy or stupid. What is it, Curtis? Lazy or stupid?"

Your jaw clenches automatically. You want to lay him out right there but instead you raise your hand.

"Not now, Mr Randle. We know you can do the sum. It's not your intelligence up for debate."

You can see the sick fucker getting a kick out of Soda's discomfort. His eyes are lit up like a tigers and you wonder how long it would take you to beat him into submission.

Soda is shifting in his seat and pushing back his dark blond hair, desperately trying to make sense of the sum that you know is beyond him. You wish for Two-Bit to pop up at the window, or Dally to set off a fire alarm.

But all that's present is a never ending silence that your buddy is drowning in.

"How far away from the spike is Donnie?" Trent demands.

Soda is glancing uncomfortably at the blonde chick he was talking to, and you can almost feel the shame coming off him in waves as she gives him a pitiful look. You'd bet your last dollar she don't know the answer neither but that ain't a problem, 'cause Trent ain't hounding her for it.

Soda's stopped tapping the pencil now. He ain't looking at the blonde and he ain't looking at Trent. Instead, he's staring desperately at his work sheet.

"This fucking Donnie sounds like a pussy."

You don't know who said it at first. You almost look around for Dally before you realise it's you.

"I beg your pardon, Mr Randle?"

"This Donnie sounds like a pussy. What kind of douche hangs out down at the railway, and stands on a rail no less? If you're feeling any sort of vibration on a rail, you don't hang around working out how fucking far away it is. You get your God damn ass out the way in case a big fucking train comes your way."

"That's quite enough, Mr Randle!"

"Unless you're some nerd with no friends who picks on kids for being cooler than you are. Maybe then you hang out alone at the railway. Is your first name Donald, Trent? Is this an autobiographical question? If so, too bad you didn't get hit by a fucking train."

The entire class is staring at you in shock when suddenly Soda breaks out into loud explosive laughter.

"Oh, you think this is funny, do you, Mr Curtis?" Trent turns back on Soda, his face red with fury, but Soda has lost all control now.

"I think it's mighty funny." He gasps, then as an afterthought, "Sir."

Trent can see his power slipping away just as quickly as you can. When Soda is himself, there ain't nothing he can do to break him, the same way as he will never break you.

"How funny will Mr Randle be in detention this Saturday morning?" Trent threatens, but the threat doesn't bother either one of you.

"Hell, Steve's funny Monday to Sunday," Soda says. "So I guess he'll be just as funny as usual."

That's it, he sets you off, and the two of you are still howling when he throws you both out, and sends you to the principals office.

There's a line to see Principal Greene and two in front of you is good ol' Two-Bit. You reckon he spends most of his school day in this line.

"What you two in for?" He asks, like you bumped into him in jail.

"We was just trying to keep little Donnie from going off the rails." Soda snickers.

"Or maybe on the rails," you say.

Two-Bit doesn't get it when the two of you crack up all over again.

888


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

You're like brothers. Sometimes you think you spend more time with him than his real brothers.

Feels like every few days you're waking up on the Curtis couch. Your old man's become more distant, rags on you less. But then sometimes he just snaps and tells you to get the hell out. Sometimes he don't, but you know it's coming so you leave first.

He gets guilty, of course. These days you hold a grudge and on your return, he's always offering you cash so you won't be mad no more. It's dirty money but you take it anyway.

You make your own money too. You lift hubs quicker than anybody you know and the street price of four decent hubcaps ain't nothing to sneeze at.

You use the money for a number of things. Smokes, liquor and extras for the Chevy you drive. The Dodge, as much as it means to you, only runs for the best part of a month. You spend every penny you have trying to rebuild her until Soda tells you to stop being an ass and go get yourself a real car. So when you finally get your licence, that's exactly what you do. The Chevy's a real sweet ride and by this time, you know an engine forwards, backwards and inside out. You soup her up every chance you get until she's one of the best looking and smoothest running cars on the East Side. You and Soda cruise up and down the Ribbon nightly, you eyeing up other cars and him eyeing up chicks. It's an arrangement that suits you both.

One day, you're crossing the street on foot and some guy in a truck nearly runs you down. You yell at him, he gives you the finger and then he disappears inside the liquor store. He's in there less than five minutes, but by the time he comes outside, every hubcap is gone from his truck. They're not worth anything, you toss them in a dumpster on your way home, but the important thing is to teach the guy a lesson. Nobody fucks with you and gets away with it.

Except two days later, the same guy knocks at your front door and you nearly have a heart attack when you see who it is.

"Steve Randle," he says, and your eyes widen in shock. "I believe you owe me some hupcaps."

Word has clearly got around that you are the hubs man in town. You don't know how he has got your address but it pisses you off something fierce.

"I don't owe you shit. Get the fuck out of here."

It's his turn to look shocked.

"I'm gonna ignore that," he says. "My name's Al Young. I run the DX garage."

You're disgusted.

"You run the DX and you're chasing four lousy hupcaps? They weren't even worth nothing."

You don't give a shit you practically just admitted the crime. A cheap skate like him needs confronting. You think of the kind of rims you'd be showcasing if you owned a garage and decide this guy don't deserve the privilege.

But instead of calling you out on your almost confession, this guy looks like he might start laughing instead. His reaction means shit to you. You're tired of the conversation.

"If you wanna call the cops, be my guest" you tell him but he shakes his head and sticks his foot in the door that you're trying to close.

"I was thinking more along the lines of offering you a job."

Your jaw almost hits the floor and you think this must be some sort of joke. But Al Young is serious.

"How'd you know I won't clean you out?"

"Well, you can only rob me once. A pay cheque every month sounds a lot more stable. Besides, I know where you live."

He has you there so you agree to a part time job. Weekends and a couple of evenings.

Working with cars all day don't feel like work. You even turn down Dally's tempting scheme to stage a robbery, just on the off chance you get caught out. While a split of the proceeds would be mighty fine, a job like this is too good to lose. You take it on the chin when Dal calls you a pussy.

The only problem with being at the DX so much is you miss Soda. And he must miss you too, 'cause you can't get rid of him.

"Sweet, Jesus, that's a hell of a car." He runs his hand down the side of a sleek Corvette and you have to agree. You wouldn't get near a car like this unless you broke the law to do it but Al is actually paying you to touch it.

"That blonde ain't nothing to sneeze at neither."

You don't even look up at Soda's comment, you're not so easily sidetracked by a pretty face as he is, but you soon realise that when Soda is hanging here all day, the chicks hang out much longer than they need to.

"Well, I'll be damned. Coke sales have almost doubled in the last week." Al says, looking through the till receipts, a smile on his round face.

"That's 'cause the girls are hanging out and fawning over Soda," you tell him, doing your best to scrub your greasy hands clean at the sink.

Your comment has caught Al's attention and he lifts his head thoughtfully.

"That boy got a job?"

He don't. And you don't think getting one is too hot of an idea seeing he's so behind in school. But you ain't his damn mother so you just tell Al no and keep your trap shut.

Soda thinks it's his lucky day when Al offers him a job. Mr and Mrs Curtis agree as long as he uses some of his pay check to pay for a tutor. The tutor's a pretty brunette who spends their sessions making out with him. When you tell him there are plenty of chicks who will kiss him without payment, Soda laughs his ass off then tells you he's keeping his promise to his parents. They asked him to pay for tutoring and he is. Waste of fucking money in your book but there ain't no sense in Soda's head when it comes to women.

Then you meet Evie. She hangs around the DX with a whole gang of girls, and while they crowd around Soda, she hangs back and sits on the hood of her friend's car. Her raven coloured hair is cropped short, and even though you usually prefer long hair, all you can think is that the style brings out her cat green eyes to the fullest. You're sure she's waiting for her chance at Soda so you pretend not to notice her, but after three weeks, she hasn't done more than say hi to him. And you get the distinct feeling that it's you she's watching.

"Soda, can you pass me a wrench?" You're on a trolley underneath a Cadillac and he's supposed to be helping. As usual, he's missing in action.

"Curtis? For Christ's sake, can I-" You roll out angrily from the car and she's standing there in a mini skirt, wrench in hand, mischievous look on her face.

It's the quickest your anger has ever been quenched. You get up off the trolley, face to face and alone with her for the first time.

"I think Soda's kinda busy." She holds out the wrench, and you're impressed that she even knows what one is, let alone the fact that her holding it is all kinds of sexy.

You wipe off your hands and squint down at her before you take the tool.

"He not keeping you busy, then?" You try to say it real casual. You refuse to get excited if she's only here for you to put a word in with your buddy.

"Nah," she says. "He ain't really my type."

You're secretly pleased, but a part of you feels like you should defend him.

"Why? What's wrong with him?"

Evie laughs and throws a look across the forecourt where Soda can just be seen amongst a gaggle of girls. He's flashing that blinding smile of his, gesturing with his hands, amidst giggles and plenty of hair flicking.

"There ain't nothing _wrong_ with him. He's a nice guy. I just don't date boys prettier than me."

You're all but sold on Evie Murphy at that moment, but you pause carefully.

"Well, you're shit out of luck," you finally say. "Because I have it on good authority, I'm way prettier than you."

She looks outraged for a moment but when she sees your eyes twinkling, she laughs along too.

It ain't long after that the two of you start going steady.

888


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

You're like brothers. And you'd trust him with your life savings, your darkest secret, and even the girl you love.

The love thing kind of creeps up on you. She says it first, months before you do, and your first response is 'Okay.' For that kinda reaction, Sylvia woulda gone after Dallas with a spiked shoe. Some girls might get upset, but not Evie. She raises a perfectly plucked eyebrow and says;

"Gee, thanks, Romeo."

When you laugh, she does too. And that's when you know you love her, even if you ain't sharing yet.

So the evening she calls you sobbing down the phone, you feel your barely concealed anger shoot up to a dangerous level.

"Evie, whats-a-matter?"

Your stomach is in a hundred knots as she falteringly tells you what's got her so worked up. Some guy she knows offers her a ride home. But instead of taking her home, he takes her to some deserted back road and tries his luck. She says no, she fights back, and the scumbag gives up and pushes her out of the car.

You have to squeeze the phone to keep from interrupting her but when she's done, you say in a tight voice.

"Tell me where you are."

You drive like a maniac on the way up there. You take several corners on two wheels, swearing and biting down on your cigarette as you make your way north towards the airport. There ain't nothing gonna slow you down. Not a thunderstorm, not the cops, not nothing on this earth.

There ain't much of anything out here and you're surprised she found a pay phone at all, but there she is, hugging herself miserably inside the phone booth, her eyes watching as you leap out of the car and yank open the glass door.

"You okay?"

She buries her face in your neck and cries some more. You're so mad you are squeezing her way too tight and she squirms under your grip.

"Sorry." You hold her away from you and look into her misty green eyes. "Where can I find him?"

"Soda said you'd say that." She bites her lip guiltily and you don't understand. When has she spoken to Soda?

"Soda?"

"Yeah," she admits. "I got scared when you sounded so quiet on the phone. I phoned Soda, thought maybe he could calm you down. He said he'd call you but I guess you left already."

You hate that she uses the word 'scared'. She's one of the few people in this world that you never want to frighten. But you know it ain't herself she's scared for. She's scared for you, that you're gonna rip out this guys spleen and wind up in McAlester. Well, one of those things is a given. The second you'll take your chances on.

Her fear and the mention of Soda is only a momentary distraction. Then you're right back on point.

"Where can I find him?"

888

You screech into the parking lot of the Dairy Queen, not giving a shit that the squeal of the tyres attracts the attention of everybody there.

"What one?" You demand, door open, one leg already on the tarmac.

"Don't, Steve. Please don't." She won't look at you, she has her hands folded neatly in her lap, but you can still see the way the fabric of her shirt slips down one shoulder, the way it's been stretched by unwelcome hands.

Across the parking lot, you see Soda in his dad's pick up, but for once, he is not the direction you're headed in. You scan the rest of the area and your eyes finally come to rest on a group of guys eating burgers on a picnic bench. They all look edgy. You get out of the car and you walk on over there.

"Which one of you is Will?"

There's silence. Nobody wants to give the guy up but his pride gets the better of him and he puts down his burger and stands up tall. You don't know him but you've seen him around school. You think one of his buddies is in your history class.

He's the same height as you but bigger built. You don't care. You have rage on your side.

"Who the fuck wants to know?" He saunters round the table, all arrogant and smug.

"Evie Murphy's boyfriend," you growl. Then you spit at their feet like some kind of cowboy challenge.

He knows who you are, opens his mouth to say something smart, but you don't let him finish. You hit him straight in his jaw and he's knocked on his ass. Two of his friends pile on top of you. From behind you, you hear Evie screaming and then feel the pressure of each of the guys getting slugged. You roll to your feet just in time to see Soda start going at it with one of them.

"Hold it!" You yell, grabbing his shirt, yanking him backwards.

You're grateful he's got your back, really you are. But this is your fight. You step around him.

"You and me," you tell Will. "No buddies, no weapons. Just fists."

Your first hit was a good one. He's clutching his jaw and looking wary now but he don't wanna lose face in front of his buddies. After a moments hesitation, he nods at them, and everybody clears back.

"Keep your head," Soda hisses in your ear, but you brush it off, clutching his sleeve just for a second.

"Take care of Evie. "

You don't gotta say anything else, you don't wait for an answer. Instead, you face off with Will Fraser, narrowing your eyes before you rush at him.

It's a good fight. People talk about it for weeks. A crowd gathers like you're tousling in a school playground and people cheer and yell as the two of you beat the tar out of each other. From what you see, Evie is still crying, and even though Soda has an arm about her you wish he'd just drive her home. But you get it. He ain't leaving you.

Will tires first. You're tired too, but every ache is pushed out of your mind by the thought of someone else putting their hands on your girl. The last time you knock him down, he can't get back up. But you can't stop swinging either. All the bottled up rage you've felt since you can remember is balled up in your stomach, firing out through your fists, taken out on Will Fraser's face and upper torso.

By the time the cops show, Soda has bodily dragged you clear of Fraser, but your blood covered hands and t shirt are enough of a clue even for Tulsa's Dumbest. You just manage to toss him your car keys before they cuff you and drag you off. Evie's sobs are the last thing you hear.

Through the cop car window, you can't look at her tear stained face but you give Soda one long look. He knows what it means._ Look after her. _He nods, tightens his arm about her and you sit back, satisfied.

888

The next morning he's sitting on the steps to the station holding two paper cups of coffee. Your car is sitting in the station parking lot.

"How's the eye, Champ?"

You're not sure which you're happier to see, his grin or the coffee. Your eye hurts like a mother and you can scarcely see out of it but you shrug like it's no big deal.

"How's Evie?"

"Okay," he assures you. "My Mom put her to sleep on the couch. She was okay when I dropped her to school."

You grunt something unintelligible as you take the coffee cup from him. You kind of wish she was here to meet you, but think maybe you're just being a pussy. You don't say it out loud but he reads your mind anyway.

"She wanted to come but she was wigging about some history test. She was gonna blow it off but I made her go in, figured you might want to shower first." He wrinkles his nose playfully and you give him the finger.

You're glad he managed to go back for the Chevy with Darry once Evie was safe with Mrs Curtis. It had been quick thinking on your part since you knew Mr Curtis needed the truck for work today and you'd have no way of getting back home. Apart from calling your old man, of course. But you'd rather hitch a ride than do that.

Your old man either hasn't noticed you didn't come home or doesn't give a shit. You leave Soda in the kitchen while you shower and throw on some clean clothes. Your eye don't look or feel too good but asides that and a few aches and pains, you feel okay.

"We can probably make third period," you say as you walk back into the kitchen. Soda's eyes widen.

"You wanna go to school?"

"I wanna see Evie," you say, but the truth is, you also want everybody to see Will Fraser didn't keep you off school. You were the last man standing.

"You can't go to school. You're...injured."

You give him a dry look. Any excuse to stay out of school and Sodapop Curtis is there.

"So what's your excuse, you bum?"

"Bum? I ain't no bum. I'm here for moral support."

You shake your head and give him a shove towards the door.

888

By the time you stop for snacks and Soda talks to some chicks at the drive through, it's nearly lunch time when you get to Will Rogers.

You head straight to the cafeteria where Two-Bit is already there, trying to talk the lunch ladies into opening up early.

"We don't open til 12.30, Mr Mathews. How many times are we gonna go through this?" The lunch lady is butch and brusque but Two-Bit smiles at her like she's a swimwear model.

"Aw, come on, Martha. What's a few little minutes between friends?"

"Hey, Two-Bit! Leave the nice ladies alone!" Soda's voice floats across the empty cafeteria and even miserable Martha smiles at him.

"Hey, double-trouble." Two-Bit comes ambling towards you, same stupid smile on his face that's been there since you can remember. "Well, that's a pretty looking bruise you got there, Randle. When d'you get out?"

"This morning," you tell him. You recount yesterday's festivities for his benefit, Soda throwing in a line or two until the bell rings. You watch the kids pour in, a few of them glancing over at you, the story obviously having found it's way around school.

Soda hops up to go talk to some brunette and Two-Bit looks at you like there's something on his mind.

"I thought you were hungry." Nodding at the now open food counter is your way of telling him to spit it out.

"People been talking, Steve. Bullshit mostly. Probably started by Fraser's boys."

You shrug. You know what happened. You don't care what anybody else thinks. And the fact that Fraser didn't make it to school speaks volumes.

"No, listen, buddy. People been saying that when you got hauled in...Soda took Evie home."

You're non plussed.

"Soda did take Evie home. She stayed on his couch."

"No. You ain't listening, man." Visibly ruffled, Two-Bit runs a hand through his hair. "They're saying he took her _home_."

Now he's got your attention. You think about it for less than a second, imagine Evie wild and upset, needing a shoulder to cry on. But then you look across the room at Soda and all doubt vanishes from your mind.

He catches your eye over the brunette's head and throws you a grin. You nod back before smirking at Two-Bit.

"No fucking way."

He looks relieved, laughs it off with you, and clears off when Evie arrives. It's good to see her; you enjoy the feel of her hands and even the horror in her eyes at the sight of your wounds. You sense the room watching but not brave enough to speak up and you make sure you stay there the entire lunch hour, something you never do.

Soda isn't in your next couple of classes but he's leaning up against your car when school lets out. You've heard snatches of the rumour repeatedly in the last two hours so you know he has too.

He looks at you searchingly when you unlock the car and get in. He gets in the passenger seat, stares out through the windscreen and then finally says:

"You got something to ask me?"

You snort, look at him face on and shake your head.

"The fuck I have."

"Good." He's looking sideways at you as you start the engine and back out of the parking space. "'Cause for the record, I'd never have nothing to ask you neither."

You don't answer, just grunt like you usually do, as you shift stick and pull out fast onto the street. But you can feel his smile without looking up.

"Stop it."

"Stop what?" He feigns innocence, something that he's way too fucking good at. Unfortunately for him, you've always seen past that bullshit.

"Stop smiling at me like you love me or something. It's creepy."

He laughs, puts his arm out the window and throws back his head.

"Stevie?"

You glance at him briefly then look back at the road.

"What?"

"I do fucking love you, man."

You give him the most scathing look you can manage but unwillingly feel the upward tug of your lips.

"Curtis, shut the fuck up."

888


	9. Chapter 9

**A.N Thank you to my loyal readers/reviewers. You know who you are.**

**Chapter Nine**

You're like brothers. Except it ain't your parents that are buried around the same time he's failing his junior year.

And even though you hurt like you have never hurt in your whole damn life, you know it's nothing to the pain that he's feeling.

You spend morning, noon and night just watching his face, be it from by his side or from across the room. You don't talk much but you know where he is at all times, even if it's just out the corner of your eye. You watch strangers offer condolences, neighbours bring round casseroles and the guys stumble around him awkwardly. You don't say nothing. You just sit there like a prize fool, doling him out cigarettes, lighting them when his shaky hands can't manage.

He's trying to be strong for Ponyboy. When he slips outside to cry you wait a respectable amount of time before you follow. And he doesn't hide it from you so you know he wants you there. You don't squeeze his shoulder and you don't give him a hug, even though he'd undoubtedly be able to offer those things to you. Instead, you sit quietly, just about managing to meet his grief stricken eyes when he finally manages to calm down.

You like it best when he gets mad and smashes things up because that you know how to do. The two of you beat the crap out of the old Curtis shed and then you sit side by side on the porch steps, knuckles bleeding, lungs screaming in protest. You want to look for more things you can break but the anger's left him now and he's crying again. Regretfully, you fish in your coat for another smoke.

At the funeral, you stand with Soda to your right, watching the coffins go into a hole, one on top of the other like a Jenga tower. On his right are his brothers. Darry standing as tall as he can, and Ponyboy between the two of them, wailing like a baby. Even you feel bad for the kid, you don't see how it's fair he loses both his parents. You almost offer God your Dad in their place, but then you remember you swore never to ask that son-of-a-bitch for anything again.

When Soda loses it beside you, you say to hell with your promise, and offer your Dad up anyway. But God's a sly old fox and he don't accept. Of course he wants Mr and Mrs C over your drunk of an old man. Hell, you do too.

Dally don't last the length of the funeral. He's cursing and muttering from the off and you're surprised he makes it as far as he does. He stalks off round about the time the priest starts talking about _'__God working in mysterious ways_'. You think it's a crock of shit too and as you watch the back of Dal's leather jacket leave, you're real jealous that he's escaping this suffocating sea of sadness. You could follow, you know that, but Dallas don't carry the responsibility you do, 'cause he ain't Soda's best buddy.

Hearing Soda and Ponyboy cry is the worst sound you have ever heard but you suck it up 'cause Soda needs you. 'Cause every few seconds he's leaning out of his fog of misery to check you're still there. The day of the funeral is the longest fucking day of your life.

Afterwards you all go back to the Curtis place. It's better than the churchyard but not by much. Ponyboy falls asleep in his daddy's arm chair and then Soda gets so drunk Darry has to haul him to bed. Dallas is still AWOL and once Soda's gone to bed, Two-Bit and Johnny call it a night and quickly leave too.

You are halfway through a beer when Johnny and Two-Bit leave. Once your can is empty, you look about the room to discover that's empty too. You head outside to go on home and it's Darry solemn voice that stops you as you head down the porch steps.

"You okay?" It startles you that he's asking you this. He's sitting on the old porch bench, an open bottle of whiskey sitting beside him. _' You __o__kay?'_ is what you should be saying to him.

"I'm gonna take off." You start down the steps. Never in your life have you wanted to get away from this house so badly. You've spent your whole life running towards it. It's now pretty strange to be running in the other direction.

"Don't go."

His words make you freeze and you slowly turn, instantly seeing him for what he is. Darry Curtis is a scared and wounded kid, not the stoic steady man he's been portraying all day. Well, you'll be damned. No wonder he's so good at poker.

Still, you've done your bit. Soda's asleep and you want out of here.

"I just wanted to say thanks," Darry says, and you nod in a non committal kind of way. "I don't know what I would have done if not for you."

Now that you don't understand. You've barely said two words to anyone, let alone him.

"You're the only one holding it together, Stevie. The only face I can look at when...ya know," Darry trails off but you get it. "Soda and Pony are a mess, Johnny too. Dallas ain't one to stick around and if Two-Bit makes one more lame joke, I'll put him through the fucking wall, I swear to God."

He's half laughing when the snort turns into a sob. You stand there on the porch, not knowing what the hell to say as Superman Curtis starts to cry his heart out. It's a manly kind of sob, if that's possible- hand over his face, his great shoulders shaking violently, low guttural cries seeming to come from some place deep inside him.

You wonder why you don't feel nearly as awkward when Soda starts crying. You wonder why it is you want to stick around for that, but not this. You like Darry. A lot. But he needs to be doing his bawling to somebody else.

"I don't know that I can do this," he gasps. "I don't know if I can stay strong enough to convince the social services they're better off with me."

Now this gets your attention.

"You don't got a choice," you tell him fiercely. "You think your parents wouldn't want you to fight for them? You guys are the only family you got left!"

You appreciate the irony of it. You, only child and product of a broken home, are telling Darry Curtis about the meaning of family. But in a way you get a right to say it. 'Cause you only learnt the difference between your world and his from spending time in this house.

On this porch, in that yard, in the kitchen trying to eat Mrs C's too hot cookies. Under the hood of your old dodge with Soda, Darry and Mr C, on the living room couch, where every person that passed you sleeping there would throw you a blanket, offer you a drink, make sure without saying it that you knew you were welcome there.

You're glad Darry don't think you're overstepping the mark though. He nods through his tears that he gets it and even though you know you should feel some empathy, the only thing that kicks in is the onslaught of a blind panic. It's bad enough Soda's parents are gone. It's bad enough that Soda is a mess, but Darry you figured you could rely on. You can't afford for him to fold on this. You don't want your best friend shipped off to a boys home.

"Today it's alright not to be okay," you tell Darry. You don't really want to listen to him blub but you figure he needs a night at least. "Tonight, you can scream and cry as much as you want. But tomorrow, you suck it up. Tomorrow you're the perfect parent."

He nods again, mutely holds out the bottle of whiskey to you.

"Stick around, please, Steve? Take my bed, I'll have the sofa. I don't know what I'll say to them in the morning."

By them, he means Soda and Ponyboy, and you don't know why the hell he thinks you'll have something more to say. But if he's keeping your buddy here, you'll do whatever the hell he wants you to.

You accept the whiskey bottle. But you both know that taking it is so much more than accepting a fifth of Jack. In taking it, you are promising not to crack, not to walk away, to be Darry's back up when the other guys melt.

"Okay," you tell him. "But get it together by tomorrow. No pussying out."

An unspoken deal is made between you, one that neither of you ever mention out loud. When things get heavy, you don't follow Dally out the door like you want to. And when Darry is breaking, your poker face somewhere in the crowd is what keeps him strong.

Darry Curtis is your friend, but neither you nor him are under any illusion of what binds you the tightest together. Both of you love Sodapop more than you love yourselves.

For the next month or so, the Curtis house is a swarm of social workers, all of them looking at you like you're scum of the earth. And even though you'd never admit it, you straighten cushions and rub your sleeve across the top of the dusty TV whenever you know they're due. You don't know if they'll grant Darry custody of Soda, and what in the hell will you do if they don't? You might even miss his annoying little brother.

Darry wears that poker face all day long. It must help that he's a jock, that he's used to talking to reporters, local people, the Soc's on his team. He doesn't put a foot wrong, and once he's answered a question, Soda shoots a smile, and if the visiting party from the state is female, he usually follows up with a little subtle flirting. The two of them are a winning combination but it's made clear that their situation goes against the norm,

Darry has no experience being a parent. You doubt he's even babysat Pony while his parents went to the movies. And he isn't skilled in very much, can't afford college now but manages to score a job roofing houses. Them jock muscles come in handy after all but you still hear the locals saying it:

"_It'a a darn shame."_

Darn shame indeed. But there are situations like that all over the East Side. Lost dreams, stray parents, extreme poverty- hey, in a way, it is kinda like the Curtis' are finally joining the majority.

It's only a darn shame to those people because Darry Curtis had shouldered his way into a crowd society deemed important. Jocks, scholars, Socs. Steve always thought that one of the smartest things Two-Bit ever said was that, if it weren't for the gang, Darry would be a Soc.

And they _are_ your gang now. Soda's your brother but you're also loyal to wild Dallas, solemn Darry, wise ass Matthews and Johnny, the gang's pet. You gotta admit you got a soft spot for Johnny. Hell, maybe the way Soda feels for Pony is how you feel about Johnny, like you wanna protect him, keep him safe. No progression with the kid though. Even his current tragedy doesn't make him any less annoying.

The night before the social workers make the decision, you lay awake for a long time. Staring up at the ceiling and thoughtfully smoking a cigarette, you ask God for one last favour. You tell him that he owes you at least one more for taking Mr and Mrs Curtis the way he did

And maybe that twisted sadist actually listens to you, because the Curtis brothers, against all odds, are allowed to stay together.

888

**Like Steve? Like Soda? Hate Dally?**

**Tell me all about it in that box over there...**


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

You're like brothers. And maybe that's why the next few months are so hard for you. 'Cause they sure ain't easy for him.

One time you come over to the Curtis place to find him alone on the porch. His feet are bare and dirty and he doesn't wear a jacket despite the cold. None of these things are unusual. He could have quite easily lost both shoes and coat during the course of the day. But something in his expression tells you he's out here for a reason.

You sit down beside him on the porch bench, neither of you greeting the other until you hear exactly why he's out here.

"That's the second pair of sneakers ruined this semester, Pony!" It's Darry's voice and he's in one of his moods. "How the hell am I gonna afford a new pair? You think sneakers grow on trees, huh, Ponyboy? Do ya?"

Between one brother losing shoes and the other one putting holes in them, you can kinda see why Darry is pissed.

You look over at Soda blank expression. His full lips are drawn tight and his eyes look tired. But he's trying to be neutral, you can hear almost hear his thoughts, correcting Darry, gently scolding Pony. Except it ain't his battle.

"Glory, Darry, I said I was sorry and I'm looking for a job. I told you!" The kid sounds tearful and you roll your eyes. What would little Curtis get up to for a paying wage? Delivering newspapers? Stacking shelves in a supermarket? It wouldn't pay much but it might stop him hanging around Soda all the live long day.

You're about to tell Soda that a job for the kid ain't a bad idea, but when you glance up, you're startled to see silent tears slipping down his face. You make a startling comparison to the way Johnny looks when his parents are fighting. You guess that's the difference between them and you. They care when their family are fighting. You scarcely remember your mom these days and your dad makes you mad, not upset. Either way, you don't like looking at sad Soda.

"It's my fault," he says softly. "I'm not bringing in enough money."

"You do okay," you stiffly say. The DX pays an okay rate and he can't afford to increase his hours because school is going down the drain. Not like he can afford a tutor either.

"I gotta quit school, Stevie. It's all I can do. Then I can work full time, make more money and not have Darry on at me about school work. He's the only person I feel bad about when I bring home D's. Just Darry. And Mom and Dad, I guess. I may as well get a job so I can help with the bills."

All of a sudden, you are sick of him being such a fucking martyr.

"That's a dumb idea," you hiss. "Drop outs end up in dead end jobs or in prison. Everyone knows that."

"Well, I ain't looking to study medicine anyway." His shrug riles you up from the pit of your stomach and everything inside you tells you this is the wrong move.

You can't imagine him not being in school. You can't imagine him being a 'drop out'. The term makes you sick.

"Listen, Soda, I'll help you. I swear it. We'll get you caught up in no time."

He puts his head in his hands despairingly.

"Stevie, it ain't about that." His tone is pleading and you know he needs you to understand, but you can't help the anger bubbling up inside of you.

"This is the damn kid's fault!" You snap. It's always easier to blame Ponyboy over Soda. "Keeping you up all night with his nightmares and his whining. You need to put him back in his own goddamn room, Soda. You're just tired is all!"

He looks defensive then and you're overcome with jealousy. You can't say a damn thing about that snivelling brat without him getting all riled up. But this is what's wrong with Soda, and why he never catches a break. He never thinks about his damn self.

It's all; _'Poor Darry, he's working two jobs. Poor Ponyboy, the kid gets nightmares.'_ It's never;_ Poor Soda, who is juggling school work, being a mother to Pony, a wife to Darry and dishing out the sympathy to everybody else.'_

And everybody buys into this farce too. Two-Bit, Johnny, Dallas- everyone thinks Darry got the worst break including Darry. Even that little suck up Pony, who fights with Darry all day long and thinks the sun shines out of Soda's ass, thinks it's Darry who got off worse when their parents died.

But nobody expects Darry to be happy, or share his bed with a moaning, fidgeting Ponyboy. Nobody expects him to be the same as he was before the accident. They let him be stern and angry when the mood takes him. But sad Soda isn't allowed. They still expect him to be the life and soul of the party. If he's washing dishes or clothes, cooking dinner, fixing cars, getting his math homework all wrong, Soda is supposed to be smiling.

And right then, you realise you're as guilty as everybody else. Because after a bad fight with your old man, you want him to be smiling too.

"Pony's going through a tough time. He needs me." Soda's voice is stubborn, the way it always is when you say something about his little brother.

You sigh, and run your fingers through your hair, messing up the greased style in a way you would never ordinarily do.

"I'll help out more," you try. "With homework. I'll even babysit the kid now and then."

He shakes his head, looks down at his bare feet and then across the weed filled yard.

"Something has got to give, Stevie."

But you know what he's saying. _Someone_ has got to give. And the person who gives will always be Soda.

888

You're still pissed at him the next day.

You avoid him at school and even when you he hitches a ride to the DX after, you don't say much. He doesn't even notice, biting on his fingernails and staring out the window. You know what's on his mind.

Tonight he is gonna have to tell Darry. And that's your one last hope that his plans will be put to bed.

The kid is in the back seat, reading a book that you vaguely remember reading for English class. If you remember rightly, it almost bored you to tears and it takes all your restraint not to grab it and hit him over the head with it.

Thankfully, he ambles home alone once you get to the DX and you throw yourself into your work to shut out the thoughts of your best friend becoming a drop out.

"Al, can I talk to you about some extra hours?"

You almost hit your head on the hood of the Buick you're working on when you hear him say the words. Suddenly everything is becoming mighty real. Suddenly, him dropping out isn't something he said yesterday after a bad night.

"Well, we always got extra hours, you know that." Al isn't paying him much attention but he sure starts listening after what Soda says next.

"Well, how about doubling my hours? I'm quitting school tomorrow."

Al plunks down the files he's flicking through, his voice joyous.

"Well, that is good news! I thought we were gonna have to advertise for some extra help."

All Al is happy about is saving on some measly ad in the local paper. He doesn't spare a thought to Soda's schooling or future and you want to ram your spanner down his throat.

"So you'll have me?" Soda sounds grateful. Actually grateful.

"Sure. I'll get right on organising your shifts."

And just like that, Soda has a full time job.

You don't lift your head out from under that hood for the next hour and when Al tells you to go on your break, it's all you can do not to jump on him.

888

"Not a chance in hell, Sodapop! It just ain't happening and that's that!"

You smirk as you sit smoking on the Curtis porch, Darry's angry voice flooding your ears. You knew Darry wouldn't let this go without a fight. With any luck, he'll forbid Soda altogether and this stupid dropping out idea will disappear.

"It's done, Darry. I start full time at the DX on Monday."

"Over my dead body!" Darry growls. "You think I've given up everything just so you can be a drop out?"

Your smirk disappears. There it goes again, this woe-is-me attitude that Darry won't quit.

"You made a choice, Darry, a choice to help the family. What I'm doing ain't no different." Soda's voice is unusually firm and that makes you uneasy.

"I didn't have a choice. You do, Soda. I can manage without this. You working part time is just fine."

"It is not! Stop lying to me! I've seen all the red bills, Darry. I know that the power cut last week was really the electric company cutting us off and I know you borrowed money to pay it!"

Darry's quiet now. Soda's caught him off guard but he ain't giving up just yet.

"Please, Soda. I ain't got much to give you but the least I can give you is a high school education."

"I'm flunking, Darry. I'm gonna have to repeat anyways and even then I doubt I'll pass."

"We can fix that," Darry presses and you sense the desperation in his voice. It's the same desperation that you felt yesterday.

"I ain't going back to school and that's that!" His voice transcends into a yell then you hear his bedroom door slam and you know that's his final word. Right now, he'll be lying on his bed, blowing cigarette smoke at his ceiling., tapping his foot furiously on the dusty floor.

You light one up yourself and you are considering leaving when the screen door squeaks open and a dazed looking Darry stumbles out.

He sits down next to you, takes the cigarette from your fingers and takes a long pull before starting to choke on it. You watch him as he turns an interesting shade of purple before reluctantly banging him on the back. His eyes are streaming and you wonder why it is always you who gets the honour of seeing Darry Curtis' not-so-cool moments.

"You hear that?" He asks you, once he gets his breath back.

You nod silently and take the cigarette out of his hand.

"He's nuts, right? This isn't a good idea, is it?"

The silence goes on forever as you consider this question. You agree with Darry whole heartedly and you could say something to him that would make him hound Soda for all eternity to stay on at school.

But your buddy has made up his mind. And you are his best friend.

"He's his own man," you say grudgingly. "Not like he's a kid."

Darry sighs.

"I know that. I just don't want to be responsible for him not finishing school."

Darry has some strange kind of logic. Always thinking that everything is his responsibility. Him and Soda are the same that way.

You look at him sideways.

"Are your parents responsible for you not going to college?"

His face is a sea of changing emotions-shock, anger confusion, regret- and you wonder if he is gonna sock you one. He decides against it.

"Of course not."

"Same deal," you tell him with a shrug. "Sometimes, shit just happens."

With that, you drop your cigarette, grind it into the porch floor and walk off into the darkness. You can feel Darry's eyes boring into your back and you force yourself not to turn around.

Soda is quitting school with or without your blessing, and in a world where everybody else is ignorant to his pain, the least you can offer him is your loyalty.

888


End file.
